


Cycles 1: The Sorcerer's Stone

by yfere



Series: Cycles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, AU: Chamber of Secrets, AU: Sorcerer's Stone, Americanisms, But depending on how long this gets there will be shenanigans, Draco was raised properly, Gen, He's still an awful person though, Hermione's already smart duh, Magic works differently, Multi, No Romo yet they're just kids, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Ron Weasley, Smart Draco Malfoy, Smart Harry Potter, Smart Ron Weasley, Voldemort is dead and stays dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-23 05:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16152713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yfere/pseuds/yfere
Summary: On the train ride to Hogwarts, Ron has one (1) introspective epiphany, which immediately fucks up his life, and, possibly, history.





	1. Departure 2: Ron Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a moment I considered being very faithful to Rowling's characterizations, but then I thought--fuck it! Still, I’m almost ashamed of how much I altered Draco. There’s something charming about his stupid, short-sighted vindictiveness in the books--hopefully I can still work it in. But, I guess personality changes are half the point when you’re switching around people’s houses, right? Point is, I’m having fun. Hope you guys do too.

Harry Potter was sitting inside of an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

His presence on the train shouldn’t have surprised Ron so much, and yet—it did. As he came from a wizarding family, Ron had known nearly all his life he was of an age with The Boy Who Lived. He’d read the comics, bought the toys. He’d playacted at being Harry Potter and defeating Dark wizards when he was a kid. And maybe that was part of the problem. Harry Potter seemed—mythical, fictional somehow. How could he be a flesh-and-blood boy doing something as ordinary as sitting on the Hogwarts Express? If he were real, if he were going to Hogwarts, shouldn’t he be riding a dragon or flying in as an Animagus or being carried in on Dumbledore’s back or something?

And his compartment was empty. Partly because he didn’t really look like the Boy Who Lived was supposed to—scrawny and pale, for one, and his hair must be covering the scar, since Ron didn’t see it earlier—but also partly because Fred and George were actively warding oncoming boarders from the site with extravagant rumors that they’d seen Harry Potter elsewhere on the train. _Wouldn_ _’t want to make him deal with any fame-grubbing hangers-on, would we?_ they said, as if they weren’t already planning on ingratiating themselves, on using Ron to ingratiate themselves to him. It was this mercenary attitude of theirs, if nothing else, that convinced Ron they weren’t having him on about the black-haired boy being the Boy Who Lived.

So here they were, the twins already getting distracted by news of Lee Jordan’s tarantula, and Ron’s hand reaching towards the compartment’s handle.

_Fame-grubbing hangers-on._

He paused.

As anyone who knew Ron could tell you, Ron wasn’t always the most self-reflective person. Even so, every once in a while—generally, when it was most inconvenient for him—he’d get a flash, ever so brief, of perfect self awareness. As his fingers brushed the handle just such a jolt hit him, promptly ruining everything. For he knew then, that behind his own burning curiosity— _what is he like?_ —behind his disdain for the twins’ calculations, behind his earnest desire to make a new friend, there was something mercenary in him too, urging him forward. They were the same age. No one else was around. Ron could be the first friend, the best friend of the most famous person in Hogwarts—that might help get him noticed as something other than So-and-so’s brother, wouldn’t it?

The thought gave him a chill. What kind of a person was he, to be thinking things like that? _And anyway, I_ _’d be trading it for being So-and-so’s friend, wouldn’t I?_

The twins scampered to Lee’s part of the train. Ron’s hand dropped.

No. If he was going to be somebody, it had to be for something other than this.

The other compartments were miserably full. Ron wandered for quite some time looking for a seat. He found one—finally—which only seemed to have any room by dint of it being occupied entirely by first years. On the left, there was a pale, pinch-faced boy nearly engulfed by the heavyset swarthier boys on either side. All looked thoroughly miserable, and it wasn’t hard to see why, for on the right was a bushy-haired girl, already in her Hogwarts robes and loudly pontificating about their schoolbooks, of all things.

“What’d you have to open the door for? You’ll let Trevor out,”

This from the other occupant, a squashy, nervous looking kid. Ron could only just make his voice out over the girl, who didn’t seem to be breathing at all during her lecture. “Trevor’s my toad,” the boy clarified, at Ron’s bemused stare.

“He probably jumped out the window to get away from the _nattering,_ ” the pinch-faced boy sighed. The loud girl’s face colored with anger.

“Oh, I hope not!” The boy frantically began checking around his seat and in his pockets, with a slowly dawning horror. He gaped at the open window. “If he did that, he’d die!”

“Don’t be _ridiculous_ , Neville, he can’t have jumped out of the window,” the girl said impatiently. “Trevor is a _toad,_ not a _frog_ , he doesn’t have pads on his fingers so he can’t climb on glass, and he can’t hop that high or that far. You probably _did_ let him out, you know,” she said, directing this last bit at Ron.

“Er…sorry, I guess?” Ron couldn’t wrap his mind around why the boy looked so devastated. A toad was a pathetic pet to have—more pathetic even than his own pet rat. If Ron were him, he would have lost the thing on purpose.

“Well all there’s left to do is look for him!” the girl announced, taking the now faintly green Neville by the elbow and marching him toward the entrance. “Going to help, are you?” she asked Ron.

“Er…it’s just a toad, isn’t it…”

At the girl’s questing glance, the pale boy made a show of settling more comfortably in his seat. Remarkably, he succeeded, though his two seatmates looked decidedly less comfortable for it.

“Fine!” she barked. “You two—” she gestured between Ron and the pale boy, “—should get along wonderfully. You’re both awful, and, and— _rude little gremlins!_ ”

She flounced off, Neville in tow.

Ron let out a low whistle as he sat down. “Overreaction much?” he murmured. One of the larger boys got up to join him on the now-roomier right hand side of the compartment, and as Ron looked up it was to see an oddly calculating expression on the pale boy’s face across from him. It remained just a moment, before it smoothed out into a sunny smile. Uncanny.

“Good job on getting rid of her; she was insufferable,” he said.

“Not like I did it for you,” Ron muttered.

The smile froze in place. “Might I ask your name?”

“Ron.” That clearly wasn’t enough for the boy, and Ron wasn’t quite bold enough to let the silence lie. “…Weasley.”

He was hoping desperately for indifference when he said it—as usual, it was a lost cause. Yet amazingly, the pale boy’s face didn’t light up the same way most others’ did, right before they launched into praising his brothers’ achievements. Instead, the boy frowned. “I—suppose there are worse people to share a compartment with.”

 _Worse people?_ He had a tone like he was being gracious—just who the hell did he think he was? “Well, what’s your name then?” Ron snapped.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” the boy said haughtily. “And this is Crabbe, and Goyle.”

Ron couldn’t help but snicker at the name, even as his own expression soured. That explained the reaction and then some. The Malfoys were only among the most disgusting Blood Purists holding seats in the Wizengamot, according to his dad—they and the Weasleys had been feuding for generations because of it. Didn’t look like that would end today, either. Ron wasn’t going to start the year by being condescended to. “Yeah, I knew seating in first year was supposed to be a crapshoot, but I never guessed it would be a _shitshow_ ,” Ron said.

Malfoy looked affronted. Good. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly. “Yes, I see you’ve made quite a display of yourself. Which beggar was it you stole those rags off of, Weasley? Did he defecate himself before you put them on, or is that smell just you?”

“Honestly, I can’t smell anything over that awful perfume you’re wearing. What is it? Eu de _New Money?_ ”

It was really too bad they were having this exchange in a closed compartment. Zingers like this were meant for the appreciation of a crowd—and apparently, Malfoy felt the same, for he had Crabbe and Goyle begin muscling Ron towards the door.

“Are you a connoisseur of food as well as perfume?” Malfoy asked. His goons were like sacks of concrete—impossible to get past. The one named Crabbe began sliding the compartment door open. “I have to ask, since you’re about to _eat shit._ ”

Three to one. Bad odds, and they were probably just trying to scare him into running off. Fighting them would just be acting on stupid pride—but then again, Ron wasn’t always so great at self-reflection. He began reaching for his wand—

—and the squashy-looking boy poked his head into the compartment.

All three of the other boys were back in their seats faster than Ron could blink.

“I just saw the most amazing thing!” Neville said. “Ten compartments up. _Harry Potter_ _’s on the train!_ ”

Malfoy leapt back to his feet. “Wasn’t that just a rumor? People looked and didn’t find him.”

“Must not have been,” Neville said. He frowned. “He was by himself, and he looked pretty lonely. But, you know, I have to find Trevor—I thought maybe you all could keep him company?”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Longbottom. Of course we will. Won’t we?”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded emphatically.

“We still have to check the back of the train!” a bossy voice called out. Neville sighed.

“Listen—do you think it would be obvious if I tried to buy another one?” he asked Malfoy, in an undertone.

“I don’t think you could conceal a purchase from _your_ grandmother,” Malfoy said. “Not even if you got someone else to do it. You’d be better off just trying to catch one from around the lake.”

“I might have to.” The girl called out again, and Neville groaned. “Talk to you later?”

“Of course.”

_Well, that was bizarre._

Neville rushed off, and Malfoy turned back to Ron, once more with a calculating expression. “I appear to have lost my temper a moment ago. Unfortunately, I’m known for having a short fuse. But you’re not half bad—I see you give as good as you get.”

“Don’t try to goad me into apologizing to you. Are you really going to go suck up to Harry Potter?”

Malfoy gave him an odd little smile. “I’m going to befriend a lonely person. Would you rather I ostracize him?”

“Historically, the people the Malfoys ostracize usually end up better off than the people they befriend.”

This time, it was Malfoy who started reaching for his pocket. Crabbe and Goyle made as if to stop him—weird—but what he pulled out wasn’t a wand.

There was nothing smooth in his smile now.

“You must feel that way about the Weasleys too, seeing as you’re hell-bent on ostracizing everyone you meet. Noble of you, but I happen to believe making friends is a good thing.” The thing in his hands croaked weakly as he set it on the seat beside Ron. “If you ever feel like changing strategies, you could start with Toad-boy. He’s oblivious, so he might just buy it.”

He was off before Ron could say a word.

He cupped the toad in his hand, staring into its eyes like they might conceal crystal balls. What was that just then? Malfoy gave him a toad he clearly stole from Neville—he was just as clearly on good terms with him; Ron couldn’t expect Neville would believe him if he told him Malfoy was responsible. So he gave Ron the toad to…give back? To make a friend? To rub it in his face that Ron knew how terrible he was and couldn’t do anything about it?

 _Evil git._ Ron briefly considered throwing the toad out the window, just to be contrary. But he wasn’t an ass. He stroked its head instead. He’d been a complete idiot today, hadn’t he? He should have just sat with Harry Potter at the beginning, when he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	2. Sorting Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco needs to work on his people skills. So does Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guesssss which fanficcer hasn’t slept in days, done their schoolwork, or displayed any sense of sanity or self preservation! First correct guess gets: 1 picture of the Coffee Mug of Shame! This ginormous coffee mug is inscribed, ironically, with the logo of a dentist’s office!

“Get out of my face,” Harry Potter said. “You’re just trying to suck up to me.”

“Well, that’s sort of the point of what I’ve been telling you, isn’t it?” Draco said, spreading his hands. “I’m just a tiny sample of what you’ll be facing the second you get off this train. _Aaah, the famous Harry Potter! So cool, so handsome!_ they’ll think, and then they’ll swarm. They’ll _all_ want to suck up to you, to be friends with you. But before they swarm, they’re going to be evaluating you. Do you look approachable? Who are you hanging out with? If you’re not careful about those things, they’ll bleed you dry.”

“So you’re—what? Applying to be my buffer? I’m not hiring.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “So you’re a frank person. That’s—nice? Let me be frank in return.”

Harry Potter just gave him a slow blink, entirely unimpressed. Draco wanted to punch him. _This is a test, this is a test, for once in your goddamn life don_ _’t blow your top._

It helped, of course, that he left Crabbe and Goyle to wander the train outside. Having to go through this in public would push him past endurance, he just knew it. And he would never be able to try this in front of them.

“ _Yes_ , I’m an opportunist,” he said, through grit teeth. “My father’s an opportunist, too. In fact, House Malfoy is pretty much entirely filled with opportunists, because for most of our history we’ve been powerless, ground under the heel of people stronger and crueler than we could possibly survive fighting against. We’ve only just gotten to the point where we can breathe freely knowing we won’t get our throats cut for breathing too loud. So even now, my father still reminds me— _constantly_ —that it’s better to kiss someone’s boots than it is to bite the dust. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, you have pretty big fucking boots. If you want me to leave you alone—fine. I just hope you’ll try not to crush me in return. Surviving is the least I owe my family.”

Harry Potter was silent for a long time after that, his face inscrutable. It made Draco’s skin crawl, after laying his situation out as bare as he did. He’d never done that before—been explicitly ordered against it, in fact. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Reckless didn’t have to be bad. It was important to get things like this done right, and right away.

“So, you think I’m a bully,” Harry Potter said. His voice was deadly quiet.

Unless, of course, he _didn_ _’t_ do it right.

“I never said that—”

“You think I’m a bully,” Harry Potter interrupted, “So you’ve just volunteered to kowtow to my every whim. That, I think, is the worst thing to happen to me since this whole thing started.”

“What? I—”

“Quiet,” Harry Potter said. His face twisted when Draco obeyed, but he couldn’t be sure whether Harry Potter was disgusted with Draco or with himself. “I’m not a bully,” he said, in a tone so dark the air seemed to leave the compartment. “That’s the last thing I want to be. As for your family, if you were talking about what I think you were talking about, I’m honestly not sure whether I hate you or not. After all, you all are alive, and—other people aren’t. But I’m not entirely sure where I am on the fence myself.” He looked preoccupied for a moment. “Most of the time, I think I just tried to run away.”

The compartment grew silent again, and Draco didn’t have the nerve to break it. He tried to run away? Just what was he talking about?

“I’m exhausted,” Harry Potter said, finally. “Too exhausted to think much about crushing you, Draco. So you don’t have to worry.”

On the contrary, it sounded like Draco _did_ need to worry. Whatever Harry Potter said, he had a presence like a thunderstorm, just waiting to be unleashed. Draco couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to seek shelter or watch the lightning.

So it was, that even though their conversation was clearly over, Draco hesitated in the doorway, until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Hand over your glasses, will you?” he squeaked. Then he coughed. “They’re, uh, they’re a little—”

Harry Potter frowned at him for a few seconds, then handed them over. They thrummed with a faint magical residue—someone had probably used a wand to repair them recently, but they were still bent up around the end pieces and were horribly dirty. Draco whispered a quick cleaning spell and pushed at the wire until it seemed to be restored to rights. “Here you go,” he said. “Sorry. It just bugs me when things aren’t—”

“Neat?” Harry Potter twirled one of the temple tips around in his hand, and flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I haven’t had good experiences with people who are like that.”

 _Of course not_ , Draco very nearly muttered. But he held his tongue, and left the compartment.

oOo

At least Harry Potter was smart, Draco thought as they disembarked. The predicted swarm came for him, of course, but Harry Potter _didn_ _’t_ look approachable. And he managed it all without looking standoffish, or angry, or rude. He just looked— _distracted_ , like he was too absorbed with taking in the things around him to register that there were students trying to get his attention, trying to get closer. And it looked so natural! If Draco tried to pull an act like that he’d just look like an ass, he was pretty certain.

“He’s pretty cool-looking, isn’t he?” a voice said behind him, and it took everything in Draco not to jump like a startled cat.

“Oh. Hullo, Neville,” he said. Longbottom beamed at him.

“Yeah! First names, like I said! Anyway, turns out you were wrong about me having to hang out by the lake tonight. Ron found Trevor for me!”

“Did he now?” Draco couldn’t help but grin, noticing the Weasley scowling at Longbottom’s shoulder. “Why does he look so upset about it? Do you not like toads?”

“I think toads are great,” the Weasley said, deadpan. “They’re loyal, and honest, and kind. Wonderful friends, really.”

“Well, just because you found him doesn’t mean you can keep him!” Longbottom laughed. “Not unless I can convince my grandmother, anyway. Speaking of friends—I thought you’d be walking out with, you know, Harry Potter. Did you not go sit with him earlier?”

“No, I did,” Draco admitted. Time to be relatable. “He just didn’t really take to me. I need to work on my people skills.”

“Oh, I understand completely! I said I saw him before, right? The thing was, I was in there with him for a whole five minutes, and I couldn’t manage to say a word. Completely tongue-tied. Hermione ended up doing all of the talking. He’s so intimidating! I think you and Hermione were pretty brave for talking to him, really. Oh—there Hermione is! She’s getting in a boat with him! It would be weird if I said hi, wouldn’t it?”

As it turned out, Draco didn’t hate Longbottom quite as much as he thought he would. From what Draco gathered on the train ride, Longbottom was the kind of person you didn’t have to try around—he always took everything you said or did in the best possible light. Of course, that also made him incredibly boring.

Weasley was more fun. He hadn’t left yet, for starters, still dogging Longbottom in a way hilariously reminiscent of how Crabbe and Goyle sometimes dogged Draco. He was still scowling, and what Father had said was true—Weasleys flushed at absolutely _everything_. He was like a walking mood ring. “Not sure if brave’s the word for it,” he muttered, turning a slightly darker shade of red.

“You’re right, of course,” Draco said breezily. “The brave ones are the ones I’m boating with, right? Longbottom and Weasley, Gryffindor champions since time immemorial.”

“I told you, _first_ names,” Longbottom said uncomfortably. “And don’t remind me about things like that. Especially when I’m getting seasick.”

Weasley snorted, then pretended to sneeze. Draco didn’t even try to hide his smile. That was the other fun thing about the Weasley— he was a mean little shit. In that, Draco was sure, they were in perfect harmony.

oOo

Draco had to mingle with many other people before the Sorting, so by the time it came up he was so drained he was half-tempted to just incinerate the damn thing so he could skip over the ceremony and go to bed. Why the hell did it have to take so _long_ with people? Or, no—he wasn’t thinking of immolating the right thing. What did that horrid little Mudblood girl have to hold everyone else up for?

Ravenclaw, thank god. Not that there was a chance she’d be in Slytherin, but wouldn’t it be a nightmare if she was? Father would have an aneurysm.

He winked at Longbottom before he went up, which didn’t seem to cheer him up at all. The hat took forever with him, too, so Draco cheerfully designed three foolproof plans to break his legs without getting caught before the hat got around to yelling GRYFFINDOR!

 _HURRY THE FUCK UP,_ is what he was screaming in his head when it was his turn to put the dinky thing on. It barely needed to brush his hair, yes, thank you, Slytherin—

But then it was the Main Event. And no matter how impatient he was, he couldn’t help but wait with bated breath with everyone else as it rested on Harry Potter’s head…

…and rested…

…seriously?

SLYTHERIN, it said.

_“WHAT?”_

This wasn’t shouted by Draco, but it was shouted by a good many other people. And the truth was, Draco wasn’t expecting it either, not really. Father had said, but after the conversation on the train, he thought surely not—

Harry Potter just took the hat off, cool as could be, and strode to sit at the edge of their common table. Didn’t make eye contact with Draco. If only he would!

Draco stopped paying attention at that point, mind whirling, despite his tiredness, with too many unanswered questions. But before too long another commotion jerked him out of his reverie, though this one was much more localized.

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”

“IT’S A PRANK, RIGHT?!”

A pair of red-headed twins—no doubt Weasleys—were standing up and shouting while pointing at the Hat. And—there was the Weasley from the train. White as a sheet. Staring at nothing, the hat still on his head. McGonagall had to be the one to lift it off.

“What, the Hat say something embarrassing about him aloud?” Draco snickered. The kid would never survive if he reacted like that to every little upset.

“I should say so. For him, at least,” the Prefect across from Draco said. “This year is going to be hell…”

And—oh.

Weasley was walking towards their table.

oOo

At the very least, Draco didn’t have to do any more socializing before bed. The other first year Slytherins were too wary of making a false move around Potter, and more wary, if possible, around Weasley. Nothing was more terrifying than the unexpected, after all. _What if the twins are playacting, and it really is a prank?_ That was what Draco overheard some of the upper grade students whispering. _Is this a plot to infiltrate and cause mayhem in the Slytherin dungeons?_

Draco was just glad for the silence in the dorm. He did wish he hadn’t talked to either one of the pair on the train—if he had passed under their radar, it might have helped him sleep easier—but it wasn’t like he could sleep anyway. Not until he responded to the letter Father sent for him to open on arrival at Hogwarts.

_Are you safe? Have you made any new friends? Do you need anything from home?_

_-Your father_

Draco rolled his eyes. He could translate well enough what that meant. _Who is dangerous to us? Who is an ally? Are you strong enough to handle your first year on your own, or will you need mollycoddling?_

Luckily, Draco had permission to take a quick trip to the Owlery in ten minutes with a group of other students, provided they were accompanied by a Prefect. Just enough time to relate the essentials.

 _Dear Father_ , he wrote.

_I_ _’ve been Sorted Slytherin. Surprise, surprise. That’s not the only surprise though. So has Harry Potter. And—get this—a Weasley. You never know about some people, do you?_

_Thank you for your advice about the train. I spoke to both of the aforementioned there, as well as a decent number of other first years. I_ _’m friends with Neville Longbottom and a few other people. I’ve made progress with my dorm-mates. I’m not sure if you’re exactly right about your other piece of advice, but I’m not being idle—I’m working on new ideas._

_You don_ _’t need to worry. The Slytherin dungeon is very secure from the outside. I don’t need anything from home, unless you have some Chocolate Frogs lying around._

This was a pretty good joke. Draco’s father didn’t believe in sweets. He signed off.

_Your son,_

_Draco_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Hermione's First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity might kill a cat, the Ravenclaws say, but curious birds seem to do quite well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm learning to write more regularly! Yayy!

 

When Professor McGonagall explained things to her parents, Hermione was happy—for approximately five seconds. Then she started thinking.

“Well that’s just wonderful!” Mr. Granger, who hadn’t started thinking, said. “We’ve always known that she’s talented, of course! She was put into a gifted program at school, but we’ve been worried she hasn’t been making friends. Kids can be cruel about little eccentricities. But to hear there’s a whole school of—! Well, as long as you can give her the support she needs?”

Professor McGonagall nodded, and said there was no tuition fee, and her supplies would be provided by the school as her parents could not make transactions with Wizarding banks. Hermione’s sense of foreboding grew.

“Professor McGonagall,” she said quietly, “Are there a lot of witches at Hogwarts who don’t have magical parents?”

She knew before Professor McGonagall spoke that she wouldn’t like the answer. “There aren’t many witches or wizards at Hogwarts in total,” McGonagall said. “Magic is a very rare gift, and the student population will probably be smaller than what you’re used to. We rarely have more than fifty students in a year. Of these, the majority come from all-Wizarding families, with more having at least one magical parent.”

“How many are like me, then?”

“There is only one other student with two non-magical parents in your year.”

And of course that was the way it would happen, wasn’t it? That the moment she learned she wasn’t a complete freak after all—that there were others just like her, that she wasn’t alone—she would still, somehow, end up sticking out.

So Hermione asked for her books early, and did her best to memorize everything in them. If everyone else had grown up with magical families, they were probably leagues ahead of her in understanding how magic worked. She was determined to fit in, this time. She _would_ make friends—all she had to do was work at it a little bit. Don’t look stupid. Help people who are having trouble. Maybe it didn’t work for her before—but that was because she had magic, and the other kids were afraid of her. That wouldn’t be a problem this time.

oOo

If the Hogwarts Express was an ordeal, the Sorting Hat was worse. _Why can_ _’t we just be divided by year?_ Hermione had wondered, but she had to admit there were people her age she did _not_ want to spend any more time with. Draco Malfoy, for starters—a blond boy who sneered openly at her once she explained what dentists were. _Sounds disgusting,_ he said, in a tone that said he was talking about more than just the job.

But he was bragging he was bound for Slytherin, wasn’t he, and she was in no danger of that—

Then the hat was on her head. It felt like cold fingers were dragging through the inside of her skull, and it made her shudder. The Hat’s voice, which had sung so loudly minutes before, now seemed to whisper directly into her ears.

_A difficult one, oh yes, many twists and turns. Hm_ _… Boldness, my goodness yes, a great deal of determination…and a drive for fairness rivaling a thirst for knowledge. A Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw, I should say, but which one…?_

Hermione’s mind raced. From what she’d read, Gryffindor had by far the best reputation at Hogwarts, having in their students a healthy balance of friendliness and post-graduation accomplishment. But she’d also asked around about the different Houses while on the Express, and got the impression there was an anti-intellectual undercurrent to Gryffindor student culture—this despite _Dumbledore_ and _McGonagall_ representing the House among the staff. She had enough of that at her last school, and wasn’t sure it was a climate she could handle long-term. Maybe if she could count on a friendly face for support—but the only other first year she was reasonably sure would be Gryffindor was Neville Longbottom, and he was about as reliable a friend as a waffle. Nice, sure, but too much of a people-pleaser. Besides, he hung around bullies like Malfoy and the redheaded boy. Come to think of it, hadn’t someone told her there was a red-haired family where everyone went to Gryffindor?

Her mind whirled faster. A friendly face, a friendly face—and there was that lonely boy from the train, wasn’t there? Easy to remember because she’d also read about him—who had actually thanked her when she fixed his glasses—who said he’d only just learned he could do magic, too.

 _What House will **he** be put in? _ she wondered, but she knew it was futile to ask. She just didn’t want to be alone again—was that too much to ask? She was tired of it.

She didn’t realize the Hat had fallen silent until it murmured again in her ear. _The tragedy of having a rare mind is that, insofar as it is singular, it is made single. Your character is such that no matter which House you are in, you will probably not fit in—not entirely. You must remember, though, that students make the House more, perhaps, than the House makes the student. I will place you in—_

“RAVENCLAW!”

They applauded her as she walked towards them, which was nice. She could only hope that Harry ended up here, too. They seemed a bit similar, she thought. She might just make a friend, if he did.

The hat put him in Slytherin

“ _What?_ ” Hermione’s voice wasn’t the only one who said it either. Wasn’t that the House of the Wizard who killed his parents? Wasn’t it the one famous for hating Muggleborns? People—like— _her?_

That wasn’t the end of the drama, either. As it turned out, Sorting was like a kind of sports match at Hogwarts—besides the cheering from each House that received a new student, there were boos from others, to various degrees. And sometimes, people began yelling and calling foul after a House was called—not just for Harry Potter, but for other students too. Like the redheaded boy who walked to the Slytherin table like he was walking to the gallows. Before everyone had even sat down, Hermione overheard speculation on Points, and chances of earning a House Cup.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, the announcements at the end of the meal were—odd.

_I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death._

A few people laughed, but the rest of the Hall burst into excited whispering.

“He can’t be serious,” Hermione wondered aloud, as they walked back to their dormitory. Apparently, Ravenclaw roomed at the top of the tallest tower in the school—lovely, since Hermione hated heights. And stairs.

“Oh no, he has to be!” This from the blond-haired boy who’d been Sorted Ravenclaw shortly before her—Anthony Goldstein. “I heard from my cousin that ever since Hogwarts lost to Durmstrang in the Tri-Wizard Tournament two years ago, they’ve been trying to toughen up students. I bet this is just the newest thing. Apparently they got rid of the dueling club last year because the infirmary couldn’t stock enough bone regrowth potion after the amputations…”

 _The amputations?_ Hermione blanched. Somehow she didn’t think her parents would have been so eager to let her come to Hogwarts if they knew about _that_.

“Anyway, I bet they’ll give a load of points to whoever figures out what’s going on in that corridor,” Anthony enthused. “It would be great if it was us first years, wouldn’t it?”

“Speculating is dangerous,” another girl, Padma Patil said. “But if we’re fast and careful, we might find out something useful. The trouble is getting past the prefects.”

“Isn’t that…against the rules?” Hermione asked.

Padma threw her a scornful glance. “Of course it is, you ninny. Outsmarting people older than you is part of the whole game.”

Ravenclaws were all about games, it seemed. One of their Prefects, Penelope Clearwater, drew the first years ahead of the rest of the House to gather in front of the brass knocker of an eagle on—was it supposed to be a door? There wasn’t a handle anywhere that Hermione could see.

“It’s like a game,” Penelope said. “And it’s very important that you first-years understand the rules. Consider—sound thinking opens doors. This is the principle behind education, and it’s the principle behind _this_ door into our common room. Every day, to get into the common room, you’ll have to answer a question correctly to get inside. You can have someone else tell you the answer, of course, if it already worked for them, but some days we have real stumpers. Eventually everyone in Ravenclaw ends up having to be the first to solve a riddle, so we might as well get you all practicing now.”

Penelope nodded at the brass eagle, and—it spoke! Even after having read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_ , Hermione couldn’t help but be a little amazed.

 _What room can no one enter?_ it said.

“Well?” Penelope said. “Do any of you have an answer? Please tell me your name before you call one out.”

“Mother’s office!” a girl burst out. She immediately looked embarrassed. “Uh, Mandy Brocklehurst.”

 _A mother could enter the room,_ the brass knocker intoned.

Penelope smiled. “You might think you made a mistake, Mandy, but I’m really glad you had nerves just then, because it helps me show you something. When the knocker doesn’t like your answer the first time, it won’t open up until someone else comes along to help and gives an answer it likes. It does this so that you will be forced to learn from your Housemates instead of trying to do everything yourself. See, try talking to it again. It won’t even acknowledge you.”

“Uh…a mausoleum after a funeral?” Mandy said. Sure enough, the knocker remained silent. “How do I know it wasn’t just that I gave a wrong answer again?” she asked.

“Because it would tell you why it thought you were wrong,” Penelope said. “Now, who else will try?

“ Anthony Goldstein. The common room, if we don’t get the question right,” he said, grinning.

 _Witty,_ the knocker said. _But insufficient._

He looked disappointed.

Hermione thought she heard something like this before. The question sounded like a word game, and she’d read that was one of the types of questions the Ravenclaw knocker liked to use. “Hermione Granger, and Mushroom,” she said, confidently.

 _Well enough,_ the knocker said. The door swung open.

Hermione could hardly contain her glee, but to her surprise, Penelope motioned for them to stay where they were while she waved an older student to enter through the door. After it shut behind them, she turned back to the first years.

“Right. Now I’m going to show you one more thing about the knocker. It will accept more than one answer. As long as it likes your reasoning, it will let you in. I would like each of the rest of you to try giving a different answer to the knocker now. I’ll let you all in after everyone has gone.”

After Hermione’s answer, though, no one seemed to have much trouble.

“Terry Boot, legroom!”

 _Just fine,_ the knocker said.

“Sue Li, elbowroom!”

“Lisa Turpin, headroom!”

“Michael Corner. Uh…broom.”

The knocker seemed to hesitate. _…Acceptable._

“Padma Patil. Any room, once everyone leaves.” The knocker seemed to hesitate here, too, but then it said _Elegantly phrased,_ and Hermione wanted to die. Why couldn’t the door say that to her answer? And anyway, people _could_ enter a room after they’d left it, couldn’t they?

Penelope let everyone enter the common room, and Hermione had to wonder again. It was so open and breezy—and with the stars on the carpet, the high domed ceiling, and the many, huge windows, it gave the feeling that one was floating in space. It made Hermione feel a little queasy. She focused on one of the many bookshelves to try and ground herself.

“Through that door at the end is the dorm. Now, Ravenclaw does dorms a little differently from other Houses,” Penelope was saying. “Everyone sleeps in just one common dorm—first years through seventh years, girls, and boys.”

Terry Boot tried to stifle a laugh, unsuccessfully.

“ _And prefects,_ ” Penelope said. “So before anyone gets any bright ideas, remember that in the dorms, sound _carries._ And then it becomes collective knowledge, whether we want it to or not. _”_ She seemed to be glaring at some older students as she said this, but she turned some attention to Anthony and Padma as well. Guess she heard about them wanting to explore the third floor corridor. “We do have a few big snorers here, so if anyone is a light sleeper I have with me a decent supply of Extra Strength Sound Eliminating Earbugs.”

Hermione thought she misheard for a moment, but what Penelope held up did, in fact, look like a bug—a wriggling, fat, black worm, to be precise. She would learn to sleep through a hurricane before she tried putting those in her ears, Hermione decided.

But the year might not be so bad as she feared. If everyone in Ravenclaw spent so much time together, she was bound to make some friends, wasn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh... a nice, froufrou chapter where not much happens and people aren't having too many complicated problems. Yeah, this is definitely going to last. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


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